


A Dark and Stormy Night

by boonjo01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonjo01/pseuds/boonjo01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrote this after a really low point in my life. Figured I could share it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dark and Stormy Night

They had been arguing for two hours. Two whole hours. Dean didn’t think it would ever end. It started out with Dean very loudly objecting to watching one of Castiel’s “chick-flicks”. It slowly escalated from there into something that had gotten out of control. Lamps were smashed, cushions were torn, and the previously glass coffee table/chessboard Dean got Cas for Christmas just last year was in pieces all over the living room and den. Dean needed to find a way to end this. To shut him up as quickly as possible. It was two in the morning for fuck’s sake. Then an idea came to him, and before he had time to think about the implications: “I liked you better back when you were naïve as hell, Cas. I liked you better when you were practically my innocent little bitch.”

Dean instantly knew that he touched a nerve, and for a second, he didn’t give a shit. For a second, he revelled in the fact that the expression on Castiel’s face turned from sour and angry to hurt and rejected. But then he saw that Castiel was truly and most definitely hurt and rejected.

“Cas,…Cas,…Castiel, I am so sorry.” he stammered in horrified shock.

Castiel shook his head as his lower lip quavered and his eyes began to well up in sadness. “No, Dean. Just,…no.”

“Cas, c’mon, man. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“Dean.” Castiel slowly started walking for the bedroom, almost as if he was in a trance.

“I said I’m sorry, Cas. It just happened. Not even I knew what I was saying.” Castiel continued toward the bedroom, picking up his pace. He wanted out, and he was going to get there. Dean started after him.

“Dean, I need to be alone.”

“Dean, leave me alone.”

“Dean, please.”

Dean followed these and numerous other, similar remarks that answered his pleas of forgiveness down the hallway, where when he got to the bedroom, he was met with a white door slammed in his face. Dean tried the knob right after he heard the lock click. _That dumb lug locked himself in there. Fuckin’ A, Cas._

A muffled confession came from the other side of the door: “I heard that, Dean.” Even though Castiel was human, Dean had forgotten that he still retained a very small portion of his grace. Nothing that would cure miracles, but enough to occasionally eavesdrop on what Dean was thinking about.

“Well, fuck, Cas, how many more times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

Silence. Of course.

Dean threw his hands up in the air and walked back out to the destroyed living room. He swiped the throw blanket off of the back of the couch, turned the two ripped cushions over to hide the damage (he felt bad because Cas would have to fix them, because Dean didn’t do girly shit like that), then laid himself down as uncomfortably as he felt he deserved. _Goddammit, Dean. This’ll take a while to boil over. Why the fuck could you just have admitted you were wrong in the first place. It would have saved everyone a fuckin’ headache. And a coffee table, and a lamp, and the cushions._

Dean fell into a fitful sleep, and woke two hours later. It was four in the morning. He rubbed his tired eyes and looked around. The living room was still a mess, but as he strained his ears to listen for something, he could have sworn he heard Cas snoring.

Hmm, he thought, did he open the door? How long ago? Dean slowly got up from the couch and made his way to their shared bedroom. Sure enough, the door was ajar and Castiel was sprawled all over the bed. He always noticed that when Cas was by himself, he really loved to spread out.

Dean decided that now would be a good time to apologize, so he gently shook Cas. All Cas did was curl up into a ball, so Dean worked with what he was given and got into bed with Castiel, holding him around the waist and positioning himself so that they were both comfortable. Dean kissed the back of Castiel’s neck. “I’m sorry, Cas. I love you.” Dean couldn’t quite tell, but he could have sworn he felt Cas smile a little bit.

The next morning, Dean woke up, once again Cas-less. There was a note on Cas’ pillow.

‘Needed to go to the doctor’s office to set up a physical. Other errands after. Will be back around 5:30. Be ready to prove how sorry you are…I would start with the living room. ;)’

Dean looked at the clock. 1:15pm. Of course he slept through everything. Cas even used a damn winky face. Cas never uses fuckin’ winky faces. He got up, and made the bed, which was left in amazing condition after seeing how weirdly Cas was positioned the night before, and walked out to the living room. The cushions were fixed, and now sat triumphantly in their spots on the sofa, ready to be used once again. The rest of the living room, however, was still in shambles.

Dean looked at the clock (which now read 2pm) and started to clean up the mess he made. He immediately regretted getting mad enough to throw and rip things, because picking up every last little shard of glass was time consuming and incredibly fraught with tiny cuts on his fingers and the occasional curse word when he got a glass splinter.

Three and a half hours later, Dean was finished. The poor coffee table had to go (considering how small the pieces were, there was no saving the thing), and so did the lamp, but other than that, the living room looked the same as it did the night before, pre-fight, of course. Dean sat down on the couch and turned on the television. Some big, dumb broad from the infomercial channel was trying to sell Dean a cookie pan that made all-edge brownies. This was the last channel Cas was watching before the fight. Dean still didn’t understand why he liked to watch this stuff. None of it worked, but as long as it kept Cas entertained, Dean didn’t care what he liked.

Dean dozed off until there was a knock at the door. Dean was startled awake, and his first though was of Cas. It’s already dark out? How long was I out? Is Cas back? Did he invite someone over? Dean switched off the television and blearily got up to go answer the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 11:30pm. _Dammit, I did nothing but sleep and clean today._

When he opened it, two policemen were standing on his threshold, and they didn’t look like they were here to deliver Girl Scout cookies.

“Can I help you, officers?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Are you Dean Winchester?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“Is Castiel Winchester your brother?”

“No, he’s my fuckin’ husband. Did he do somethin’ wrong?” Dean could instantly sense something was wrong. He looked past the officers and saw that Cas’ car was not in the very wet driveway. Apparently it had rained. The officers shared the news of the drunk driver that hit Castiel’s driver side dead on as Dean put two and two together, and his heart sank. It sank even lower when he learned that Cas had probably died on impact, and was dead on arrival.

The last thing Dean ever said to Castiel Winchester was that he was sorry. And that he loved him. He completely broke down and cried right there in the front door while the officers who bore the bad news could do nothing but watch the poor man. And while he cried, you could damn well bet that he was thinking those last words over and over, and he meant it.


End file.
